


No Substitute For A Close Relationship

by gala_apples



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bondage, F/F, F/M, Foursome, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Locker Room, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4473980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has three great friends who are absolutely fantastic in bed. No commitments, no rules, no drama. So how come all he wants is to date them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Substitute For A Close Relationship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladybubblegum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybubblegum/gifts).



> Thanks Alya, for the beta.
> 
> Lady, I had so much fun keeping this a secret in chat, but adding everything I know you like.

Stiles’s first date will be 1970’s perfect. He’ll be the gentleman asking Malia where she wants to go, saying that they can go wherever she wants, he just wants her to have fun. She’ll direct him to a roller rink. Stiles’ll ask if Malia’s joking, because who rollerblades once they hit double digits? But Malia will just smile and tell him to rent blades a half a size bigger than the size he thinks his feet are, because they run small. 

It’ll take Malia a single song to start singing along to the Musak. Stiles won’t join in until Boogie Shoes, which is just too damn catchy to not. KC and the Sunshine Band will be his kryptonite, who could have guessed? Malia will laugh and tell him the end of the phrase isn’t Scooby Doo, but that’s okay, not everyone has sat with their dad on insomniac nights watching Time Life music compilation commercials, he can’t be expected to accurately know all the classics.

They’ll skate in circles and dance until their toes cramp. They’ll turn in their blades, and Malia will get an ink stamp on a business card that says her tenth visit gives her free admission. She’ll sigh when she shoves it into her pocket. Stiles will ask if she’s been here before, and Malia will reveal that she has half a dozen cards, each of them with only two or three stamps, because she forgets until a new one’s already been stamped and it’s too late. 

Malia will kick her shoes off in the passenger seat and her socks will make shushing noises against the upholstery. She’ll lean in for a kiss as Stiles idles in front of her house, and Stiles will be a gentleman once again. Nothing too wet. Nothing too much. Just enough of a kiss to make her want to do it again, on a second date. And he’ll wait until she walks up her sidewalk and gets inside to leave.

***

Stiles comes up for a moment for air, and there they are. Kira and Scott, about half a foot to his left, fucking like it’s the last day of the world. He could feel the rhythm of it before, but he’s always been a visual learner. Better to see them in the flesh, if he does say so himself.

Stiles can't smirk. If he smirks this is all over. Kira or Scott will feel slighted if they misinterpret it. They’ll withdraw and then no one will orgasm. That’s one of the ground rules they established as a group when Ironman 3 finally got paused and they all started talking with more intent. If one person is uncomfortable, everyone stops.

Still though, Stiles feels a tendril of proud amusement. He is so close to making Scott become the sexual being he can be. All it’ll take is a few more nudges. There’s a hundred sensual ways Stiles would use lycanthropy, and as far as he can tell, Scott hasn’t tried any of them yet, apart from the literally climbing through your lover’s window one. Maybe once Malia makes it clear what a dynamo he is in bed, Scott will trust his opinions.

He just has to _demonstrate_ his dynamo status, is all. It’s really not that difficult of a task. Stiles is an oral goddamn champion, and he has Malia’s heel grinding into his spine to prove it. He’s got Malia’s wetness pooling on his tongue to prove it. That’s taste and smell both, and if there’s smell involved Scott probably knows more about it than he does.

“Hey, anyone want to put fingers up his butt?”

Everything screeches to a halt. Kira stops riding. Scott stops thrusting upwards. Stiles pauses, head still between Malia’s thighs. 

“I thought we were just doing it beside each other?”

Stiles can’t help but agree with Scott. That was all they agreed to, with several strong escape hatches just in case. Stiles would remember if mutual touching was allowed.

“Yeah, I know,” Malia briefly agrees before contradicting it. “But I can’t reach his butt, and nothing’s happening to him. His heart isn’t racing like ours.”

Stiles finally has to look up, face glistening with the juices of his favourite female friend -Malia’s refused girlfriend, coyotes don’t do ownership- and chuckles a little hysterically. “Maybe my heart’s broken or something because I definitely feel as turned on as you do. No one has to finger me.”

“I could do it,” Kira says, completely ignoring his wild backpedaling. “If everyone’s okay with it?”

Scott asks hesitantly, “is it weird that I’d find that kind of hot?”

Malia’s grin rolls treacherously over her face. “Sometimes he’ll cry.”

“That happened once!” Stiles protests. Then he remembers he’s in a room full of human lie detectors. “That only happens sometimes.”

“It’s hot though.” Malia gets the last word because immediately after speaking she lightly grabs him by the hair and steers his head back to her cunt. Stiles is secretly thankful that she’s once again pushed for top quality sex. Malia’s a demanding sex buddy, but Stiles wouldn’t have her any other way. He attempts to express that through hard licks of her labia, just the way she likes it. 

Scott crab shuffles down the right side of the red sheeted bed before Kira hops back on his watermelon scented cock. Porn and a squirter fuck buddy have not prepared Stiles for heterosexual sex needing lube, but there’s no arguing that a) Scott’s dick is big and b) watching Kira’s skin flush from face to breasts as Scott crooked his fingers to slick her up was hot as fuck. Plus it smells good, which is important to half the room. From Kira’s new, lower position she can grab Stiles’ ass and use it for leverage, a brace to help her riding. Her other hand mingles with Scott’s, though Stiles has got too bad of an angle to see which one is actually rubbing her clit. He mostly sees her ass and Scott’s ballsack, and that’s if he looks up from his current task.

Just when Stiles thinks he’s never going to get what he wants -though cross couple touching bodes well for his future, suggests a repeat is a possibility- the scent of watermelon doubles. Three seconds later he’s got wet fingers probing him. Stiles whimpers into Malia and knows that probably everyone heard him, despite the muffled sound. But so be it, right? The more Scott pays attention to the raging desires of the people around him, the more his sexual horizons will broaden, and that can never be a bad thing.

***

Stiles’ first date will be 2000’s perfect. He’ll download a bunch of movies, making sure there’s a range of genres to pick from. What they might watch will depend on the mood of the moment. Stiles will not allow a romantic moment to be broken up by a poorly timed Adam Sandler joke, or deny himself the opportunity to bury his face in Scott’s chest during the lead up in a high tension horror.

After he’s got a solid nine choices ready and waiting, he’ll pick through his wardrobe, his inner critic oh so helpfully pointing out that he’s got nothing to impress Scott with, his to-be-boyfriend has seen everything. Stiles will eventually decide on a witty tshirt and threadbare jeans. Maybe not the sexiest thing in the world, but it’s the look that earned him this date, after all.

Scott will not wear the same. Scott will not knock on his front door in beat up denim and a hoodie with fraying cuffs. He’ll be dressed more fancily, like he sometimes used to for Allison. Stiles will in turns feel honoured, then not worthy, then turned on, then back to the beginning again.

They’ll recline on Stiles’ bed together, laptop on a lime green lapdesk on Scott’s legs. Their sides will touch from shoulders to hip to ankle, but it won’t lead to more touching. The bedroom door will stay open and Stiles’ dad will walk past a few times. Naturally so, not intending to be a cockblock. Not his dad’s fault Stiles’ room is the first beside the stairs. 

Eventually they’ll get hungry. Stiles will want ice cream, Scott will want cookies. They’ll settle on cookie dough. Raw, of course. Scott’s mom would say it’s unhealthy but if people documented on TLC can eat plastic bags and baby powder Stiles can survive a little wet egg. Scott will stir, as Stiles has insisted since Scott was first bitten. A unremarked upon werewolf skill is the combination of strength and healing that prevents him from eventually suffering that feeling when the spoon handle presses into your palm so hard it feels like it’s trying to come out the other side. Stiles has always hated it, but lucky Scott doesn’t have to deal with it anymore, so obviously stirring should be his job. Meanwhile Stiles will flex and stretch as he retrieves and measures the ingredients, a little more than he needs to be doing. Scott will keep his attention on his task but it won’t make Stiles feel unappreciated. Not at all. It’s a first date, they have all the time in the world for oggling.

Back in Stiles’ room they’ll dig old, engraved handled spoons into the mess of dough and chow down. With the hand that’s not scooping Scott will run his fingertips on the white threads separating Stiles’ skin from Scott’s. Stiles will shiver for a second, tell himself it’s the sudden sugar on his tongue, tell himself that that’s a huge bullshit lie, that it’s really that he loves Scott so fucking much. His dad will walk by with another load of laundry and smile.

***

Stiles is on top of the world. It wasn’t a winning goal, or even a turning the tide goal. Richards and Carter got those. But a goal is a goal is a goddamn goal, and he is Rose standing on the bow of the ship right now. 

Stiles’ spirits are not dampened by his dad not being in the stands to witness it. If anything they’re raised higher. With his dad being busy on shift, Stiles doesn’t have to sit through a victory dinner. Instead he can just tug Scott into the house and suck his dick until his best friend and fellow scorer bursts in his mouth. The welcome mat should be enough padding for his knees. All he’s gotta is do a) get soft enough that he can undress and change so that Finstock doesn’t ruin the mood with a jock itch lecture b) get Scott to follow him home rather than go to check up on his mom at the hospital c) find out if the girls want to come too, double entendre one hundred percent intended. 

It’s kind of impossible to get soft though. Between his thrill buzz, assorted other teenage hormones, and Scott being visibly naked and sudsy in the shower, Lil Big Stiles is all about being centre of attention. Stiles might just have to nix step one and go directly to begging Scotty to join him in sexy times.

This far into the season everyone knows Malia doesn’t care about things like gender segregation or nudity taboos. Not a single guy on the lacrosse team is surprised when she barges in. Even Coach doesn’t bother to yell at her to _get out, go celebrate with Kira in the other locker room_. Finstock drops a few sarcastic remarks about _why not everyone on first line get their friends to crash?_ but nothing that sounds like he means it anymore. The only person who really makes a big deal about it any longer is Greenburg and it’ll be a cheerful day at the Hale house before Finstock acknowledges any opinion of Greenburg’s. 

Stiles watches as Malia passes by him, clapping a hand on his shoulder as she does, before heading directly to the showers. One of the guys leaps out of the shower to grab a towel, but Zachary just keeps scrubbing his hair. And of course Scott twists away from the showerhead to give her his full attention. 

“You were really good when you were grinding that guy’s face into the turf.”

“Uh, thanks?” Scott hazards. It’s violent, but it’s still a compliment at base level. Malia likes the action of the game more than the rules. She knows enough to know a good play, when to cheer even if it’s not a goal, but she’s really in it for the bashing. If Quidditch existed she’d root only for the Beaters. Stiles understands that level of bloodthirstiness more than Scott does.

About the time that the majority of the lacrosse team leaves to crash Cubbie Smith’s party, Kira comes in. Stiles doesn’t know what she’s been doing with her time but it’s certainly not getting ready to go. She better not still be wanting to get washed up before they all leave, because that’ll take about forty five eons and Stiles can’t wait that long. He’s got things to see and people to do. Like blowjobs. And Scott. Scott’s cock could be in his mouth for ten years. Stiles would absolutely be down for that. He could knee walk across the stage with his mouth still planted at graduation. No problem.

“You’re not changed yet,” Malia comments.

“No,” Kira agrees. “This middle schooler wanted to know how I made the team.”

“Oh, the old ‘gender binary roles are for losers’ talk. I like that talk,” Stiles replies. A combination of adult female deputies and nurses shepherding him around and girl friends in elementary school taught him before double digits that anyone can do anything they want, and everyone can be a badass, regardless of genitalia.

Stiles is about thirty seconds from declaring every person for themselves and absconding with Scott when Malia suddenly strips off Kira’s jersey. Malia licks her from the waistband of her underwear up her stomach to the band of her bra. Then Malia buries her face in Kira’s cleavage. It’s motorboating without an actual engine.

“Whatcha doin’,” Stiles hazards when she continues to not move.

“The locker room smells like a million gross boys. I wanna smell Kira.”

Malia does make a good point. All three of his friends with benefits smell fantastically, Stiles knows that from experience. So Stiles mirrors Malia. Sort of. He’s on his knees and his face is buried in Scott’s groin rather than pitstopping at the chest, but he’s still inhaling Scott’s musk, like God intended.

“I’m gonna suck your brain out of you dick. Your brain, and your glands, and -”

“Stiles. Stiles! Here? Shouldn’t we wait until we’re at someone’s house?”

“I’m eighteen and I haven’t gotten off in a locker room yet,” Stiles mumbles into Scott’s crotch. He knows he can be heard.

“Considering we don’t live in a porn I don’t really care.”

“You’re trying to tell me in a choice between getting off and not getting off you legit choose not?”

It’s a winning argument and everyone knows it. Including Scott. His sexy latino fuckbuddy drops his towel like his hipbones were meant to be shown to the world, and Stiles has the luck of the best seats in the arena.

***

Stiles’s first date will be 1990’s perfect. It’ll start out as physics homework; to photograph and do a short write up on an example of impact. Stiles will have missed the assignment, the entire class, really, thanks to a panic attack. Turns out when you have things living inside your brain, they leave their scars. Kira won’t merely explain the assignment during after school Pack study group -usually for Malia’s benefit, but Mason’s tanking his supposed easy A of art class, so Lydia has attempted to explain proportion more than once- then leave Stiles to fend for himself. Instead Kira will spirit him away to Sally Strikes.

Once they’ve gotten enough pictures Stiles will be willing to stop monopolising her time, knowing her best friend and not quite boyfriend are both missing her in the library. Kira will tell him to stop being silly. Kira will tell him that they’re friends too. That the entire point of friends is to steal their time away so no one feels bored or lonely. That bowling has at least five physics concepts within it, they might as well educate themselves. Kira will tell him a lot, and Stiles will want to listen, like he always does when someone he cares about is rambling about something they care about, so he’ll stay.

Ten minutes and multiple gutter balls later Kira will snark that if they have to be dating for this be appropriate, then they’re dating. Before Stiles has a chance to ask what, exactly, needs to be appropriate, Kira will spoon Stiles from behind, trying to show him proper bowling technique. Stiles will assume that it’s a joke until Kira kisses him over a cardboard bowl of nachos during a break in play. It’ll seem impossible, but somehow real. He won’t even have to count his fingers to trust in her.

***

Having different traits and experiences in pants-on life means that everyone has unique kinks in pants-off life. Stiles has wound up on the weird parts of the internet often enough to know that. And in this slim area of life, Stiles has really lucked out. Because he’s got three bedmates, even if one person finds something revolting, the chances are pretty good that one other might be into it, or at least willing to try. 

That’s what finds him here, strung out on Malia’s bed. His wrists are captured in leather cuffs, lined with fur that feels soft against his skin. There’s chain leading from D rings stitched into the cuffs to Malia’s wrought iron headboard. That’s not the half of it though. There’s a second set of cuffs around his ankles, chain from them leading to the footboard. 

Stiles can’t do this with Scott or Malia. With Malia it’s more of a physical thing. She instinctively tries to pull out of any binds. Either they’re weak enough to break under were-force or she freaks out and has to be rescued. With Scott it’s a mental thing. There are a lot of negative memories associated with the early days of Scott being a werewolf, like lying to everyone all the time, like how terrifying and abusive Derek used to be. Like the Lydia thing; the shitty way Scott behaved and Stiles’ petty retaliation. Chains between them are only nasty reminders.

Kira though. Kira changes the entire equation. There are no roadblocks for them making this happen. So every once in a while, this _happens_. Stiles gets bound until he can’t possibly touch anyone and then gets teased. Because sometimes you don’t actually want to get what you want.

Strain as he might Stiles can’t actually see Scott and Malia. Hear them, of course. Neither of them are particularly subtle when it comes to bedroom noises -and why should they be, in an empty house?- and they are only a foot or two away from him. It’s just an awkwardly angled foot or two. They’re both on the floor beside the bed so they can’t see the chains and worry for him, while still being part of the orgasmic fun. Unfortunately good positioning for them means bad positioning for him. On the bright side, Kira’s the focus of the room. She’s fucking stunningly gorgeous; naked kneeling over him, swaying slowly while playing with her nipples like she can hear music he can’t. Stiles would move with her, if he wasn’t stuck exactly in place.

All of a sudden Scott and Malia are standing upright. Stiles twists as much as he can towards them -basically only his head- and asks, “you two okay?” He can’t think of anything that could have gone wrong, but Scott does not have unnoticable orgasms and neither does Malia. There’s no way they’re already done and ready to get dressed again.

“We’re good,” Scott reassures. “We just feel really apart.” 

And before Stiles can have five seconds to think of something inclusive to say, to make sure they don’t feel shitty enough to want to put a halt on the day’s banging, they’re getting on the bed. More specifically Scott kneels at the headboard and Malia kind of sits crosslegged on him. They’re not quite on Stiles’ arms, cutting off his circulation, but any chain connecting him to the bedframe is somewhere underneath the couple. When Malia rises up before reimpaling herself on Scott’s cock, Stiles can see everything. His forehead is about six inches from Malia’s cunt and Scott’s dick.

Seemingly impossibly, his attention gets drawn from the pair. His weres are sexy as hell but Kira has started to ride his thigh. Not some furious animal humping. It’s smoother, glideier than that. It’s like his thigh is a Sybian and Kira’s getting every drop of pressure and drag she can. Like his femoral artery is vibrating on a frequency only Kira can feel. Her hair was in a neat butterfly clip updo thing but with each shove of her cunt against Stiles’ leg a few more tendrils fall out of place. It’s the kind of small detail his messed up brain can get fixated on and it’s so fucking hot.

Except then Malia is reaching out and clenching onto his shoulder and Stiles attention frays further. Malia’s coming, gushing hard on Scott and her thighs and on the spot on her bed where her pillows would normally be. And on Stiles’ fucking face. He’s not even eating her out and he still gets that glorious wetness. Forgive him Kira, but he can’t move, can only take what’s given him, and Stiles is so turned on he might be having heart palpitations. He might actualfax fucking die.

Kira moans lowly. No doubt she can smell the sudden addition to the room’s sensations. Stiles is sure he’d be able to smell it, even if it wasn’t all over his face. Stiles wants to touch Kira. He wants to be the cause of the high pitched whimpers that escape her lips when she’s just about to come but he can’t be. Tonight Kira’s said hands off. Kira has demanded it of him, and sometimes Stiles needs to be given orders by someone he trusts enough to let them stick. He may or may not get his own orgasm tonight. That’s another choice that’s not up to him. What he does get is this gift of being incapable of guiding Kira. And it’s good.

***

Stiles’s first date will be 1950’s perfect. He and Malia and Scott and Kira will go to an ice cream parlour. The place will be perfectly kitsch; formica tables scavenged from thrift stores, a checkered floor, the variety of available ice cream flavours listed in chalk. Nearly every customer will be a hipster douchebag, thinking there’s some sort of irony in selecting a song from a jukebox with a quarter. He and Scott and Malia and Kira on the other hand will be there for the ice cream. 

One of the first things Stiles noticed when Malia started to integrate into the Pack is how much she indulges with food. Stiles isn’t and never will be a jealous girl on a diet, but it sort of fascinates him how Malia can eat an entire pail of raspberries or an entire bag of frozen french fries with no repercussions. No zits, no extra weight, no illness from binging. It won’t surprise him at all that Malia gets a three scoop cone, cherry chocolate and peanut butter and butterscotch. It will be a surprise that Scott follows suit, two scoops of red licorice and one of cotton candy. When Stiles tries to order a single scoop, all he has money for since the Jeep’s fucked up again, they’ll frown and talk over him. Scott will order that Stiles’ second scoop be cotton candy, Malia that his third is cookie dough. Kira won’t demand a fourth for him, but she’ll smile at the determination of the others.

Stiles won’t ‘accidentally’ touch his cone to any of their noses and wipe it off to initiate contact. He will, however, do his best to not shiver; when Kira runs a sneakered foot up his inseam, when Malia puts her hand on his thigh, when Scott throws an arm around his shoulder. It’ll be the affection more than the sudden touching that gets to him.

Malia will get cold as they start their walk back to Stiles’ house, despite already wearing a cardigan over her tank top. Scott will be the gentleman who whips off his hoodie to offer it to Malia. Kira will be the gentlelady who does the exact same thing at the exact same time. Malia will take Scott’s, probably because it smells like her Alpha. Just because Stiles can never experience that desire doesn’t mean he doesn’t get it. After half a block they’ll catch Scott curling his fingers into balls and tucking them into his armpits. Kira will once again take off her cute floral denim jacket, and this time Scott will take her up on it. Stiles will think about maybe one day waking up in the morning and putting on the first pair of jeans he sees, not sure who they belong to, exactly. The future holds no promises, but Stiles can hope for silly, lazy mornings.

***

When it comes to attention, Stiles is a simple man. Either he attacks a topic from thirty different angles and ends up more knowledgeable than most would consider humanly possible, or it’s like trying to listen for meaning in a meninist’s latest vlog rant. Something that’s completely impossible to focus on in even the slightest increments. 

Stiles needs a job. This is a fact. Roscoe has his steady diet of gas which, when added to the unfortunately frequent need for repairs sometimes makes him wonder if easy transport is even worth it. University is looming and the fewer loans the better. Not to mention household costs and the unstated but indisputable fact that Mom’s life insurance has either run out or is close to it. Stiles needs a job. He knows he does. And yet the search is planting itself firmly in the Could Not Possibly Attend To The Task column. And it’s made so much the worse by the distractions around him. Twenty minutes ago Scott and Kira were trying to teach Malia how to play Halo. Now the game is off and the three of them are doing something far more eye catching.

"This is crap!" Stiles exclaims, wanting to get their attention. 

It works, to an extent. Kira and Malia stop making out to look at him. Scott stops watching them from over Malia’s shoulder to do the same. All three are wearing identical scowls. On Scott it looks stupid, childish. On Malia, well... Before Stiles is too distracted by Malia’s sexy anger, he looks down and notices Scott's hand is shoved down the front of Malia's grey sweatpants. For all that the bulky fabric reveals, he could already be fingering Malia. Stiles doesn’t even know who he’s the most envious of, just that any of the three are in a better place than he is.

"Then join in," Scott replies. The 'moron' is unsaid, but clearly there. Or at least it's clear enough for Stiles. He can always tell what people aren't saying.

It’s obvious this isn’t working right now. Better to take a break and start again refreshed, right? Stiles stands, pushes the lid of Scott’s laptop down and strips his clothes off. Things progress from there. Things progress fairly goddamn quickly from there, and pretty soon Kira and Malia are again doing something delightful that Stiles cannot expand his horizons to focus on, due to the much higher priority of what’s happening to him.

Stiles is breathing more pillow than air positioned the way he is. It’s like reverse suffocation; he’s pressing his own face into the pillow rather than someone holding it against him. He can’t tell if he’s getting lightheaded because of lack of oxygen or if it’s because of how intensely, relentlessly he’s getting fucked. But there’s not a chance in hell he’s moving. Scott’s got a rhythm going. Moving will only ruin it for the both of them.

Just before he comes Kira sneaks a hand underneath them and squeezes his balls. Not enough for real pain, but enough to slow down the bullet train of impending orgasm.

“Why?” Stiles might possibly whine pitifully.

“Don’t be selfish, Stiles. Some people need that erection more than you do,” Kira answers, laugh in her voice. 

Not quite enough of an answer for Stiles, but then he’s distracted by Scott’s pulsing inside him and Scott’s grunt being cut off by one of the girls kissing the Alpha and just can’t bring himself to ask a follow up question. Stiles lets his knees slide out from under him until he’s sticky and sweaty and flat on the bed. It feels like every ounce of his weight is resting on his dick caught between his stomach and the mattress. He’s riled up and exhausted at the same time. He’s trembling and the bed jiggles and Malia lets out a dirty peal of laughter and there’s a slightly muffled thud on the rug on Scott’s floor and Stiles is quaking. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Orgasm denial always fucks him up. But then Kira’s hand is on his shoulder.

“Roll over. We’re not done yet.”

If he said no, he couldn’t, he’s too overwhelmed, she’d listen. They’d all listen. Scott and Malia would uncouple and get dressed, and they could watch a movie under a blanket until Stiles felt capable of putting clothes on. But no is not in Stiles’ vocabulary -not with his Pack, at least- and Kira’s hand smoothing down his chest and ribs draws him up tighter, like tuning a wonky guitar string. Her touch makes him taut and ready for round two. He tears open the condom to the soundtrack of Malia and Scott thudding and laughing and decides he can do this forever. Or at least until Scott’s mom gets home.

***

Stiles will feel actually claimed, actually wanted, for the first time in his life, goddamn it!

***

“I can’t fucking stand this anymore,” Stiles shouts. “We need to go on a date before I rip all my hair out!”

It’s possible he’s being a bit dramatic, starting this conversation seconds after swerving to the side of the road. Usually they save that sort of thing for injuries disturbingly not healing or insane wildlife running directly at them. But to be fair to him, this is the sixth time in the last two weeks he’s had the duty of driving all three of them home after a group fuck. He’s at his limit. And simply put, Stiles is not doing this anymore. He cares about his mental health, despite Morell being lawful neutral, and at least half the Eichen House staff being some kind of evil, and his only memories of his child psychologist during Mom’s downward spiral being how annoying Dr Trask was. Despite never once having a positive Caring For Mental Health experience, Stiles still recognises the importance of trying. And leaving this situation as up in the air as it is is _not_ good for his brain.

“We do date,” Malia states.

“Uh, no. We don’t.” It’s not like he just didn’t fucking notice.

“We see each other all the time and we have lots of sex.”

No. No! Stiles is not having it. Usually he remains calm, handles terrible awful or evil things with as much aplomb as can be expected, but no. Malia’s clueless statement is his line, and if he has to have a tantrum, he will. “What you just described is fucking fuck buddies. Friends with benefits. A casual open affair. What I _want_ is a goddamn boyfriend and two goddamn girlfriends.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works. Dating. Don’t you think it’s only between two people?”

“Why?,” Stiles asks pointedly, looking at Scott via the rear view mirror. “Because if it was between three you and Allison and Isaac would have?”

“That’s not fair Stiles.”

Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. It’s certainly pretty fucking accurate. But Scott doesn’t want to hear it, and hurting the guy he wants to date while in arguments for why they should date is counter productive. “Fine. Whatever. Ignore that bit. But no, I don’t think. Ben and Chon and O from that movie were dating. And I think Misha Collins and his wife have a girlfriend? We can do it. We could. Don’t you want to?”

“So what’s the difference? Between what we already do and what you want?” 

Stiles is going to explode. He really is. Of all the things for Malia to not understand about society... Luckily Kira takes over for him. “PDA. Public displays of affection, not just sex in private.”

“That doesn’t mean sex in public counts,” Scott hastily adds. According to him, one bout of locker room sex per lifetime is enough.

“And you go out and do stuff.”

“We-”

“Normal human stuff,” Stiles interrupts. Because like hell will he accept researching or fighting darkside supernatural creatures as a date. “Bowling and restaurants and movies!”

“And. Um. Uh. Sometimes you... tell your parents?” Kira gets out in drips and dabs.

Malia scrunches her face in thought for a minute then relaxes and nods. “I think my dad would be okay with it.”

Scott doesn’t reach from the back seat to prod Malia, but it’s close. Stiles knows Scott’s wrangling subordinates attitude by now. He’s quite hands on, if in a much less violent way than Derek ever was. “Your dad just got you back after eight years of thinking his wife and two daughters were dead. Your dad’d accept anything. My dad would crucify my mom if he found out.”

“Since when do you give two shits about that pissbucket?” Stiles knows though. FBI assface has only been around for a few seconds relative to the years he spent away, and Scott’s already letting him drink the last of the orange juice in the morning, when it should rightfully be someone else’s. Say Melissa’s. Or Stiles’s, in reward for more fucking chauffeuring. It’s not really a surprise. Stiles has always been better at maintaining grudges than Scott. 

Kira looks from Scott to Stiles, Stiles catches the movement in the mirror. She wants this too, he can tell. Malia doesn’t care one way or the other, and Scott’s too busy using his Alpha brain to poke holes in the logistics to have an emotional response, but Kira wants to date them. “What if we don’t tell them? They can’t know if we don’t tell them.”

“Your dad works at the school. Isn’t that PDA thing an at-school thing?”

“Yeah, but he hasn’t even met half your parents. I don’t think he’d just gossip like that.”

Stiles happen to know that Scott and Kira first hooked up because Mr Yukimura pushed them together, but wisely doesn’t say anything. Kira’s on his side, he’s not going to blow up her argument. “Seriously, screw your dad, man. You trying to tell me your mom wouldn’t be happy for you?”

“For dating three people? Stiles, really?”

“For finding people you love. People who love you.” 

It’s a big word to throw around when you aren’t actually dating yet, but Stiles is sure Scott does. Lack of formal labels aside, Scott doesn’t have sex with people he doesn’t care deeply about. He’s not capable of it. Stiles is equally sure Melissa will find comfort in her son having a strong support system, despite the weird composition of it. Melissa’s a big picture kind of woman. His dad, maybe that picture’s a little smaller. Stiles actually anticipates a bit of drinking and a lot of sighing from that corner when-not-if Dad finds out. But it won’t be anything that Stiles can’t handle, and Stiles wants to use the word date in front of his father. He just does.

“We do though. Right?”

Having already spun off into thoughts of coming out to his dad -and this time it being believed- it takes Stiles a moment to place what Scott’s referring to. The moment he does he throws open his door and climbs out of his car. Belatedly grateful for the lack of traffic he circles the Jeep and opens Scott’s door. Without saying a word he pulls his best friend -fuck buddy -boyfriend into his arms.

“Yeah, I love you too,” Scott murmurs just loud enough for Stiles’ subpar human hearing to pick up.

“I like you all a lot,” Malia declares from where she’s kneeling facing them. Strong words, from her. Stiles means that sincerely. Malia doesn’t do feelings a lot. Not yet, at least. Emotional sensitivity is a work in progress, just like academics or trying to build a new relationship with her dad.

At least she’s kneeling with her head propped on the edge of the seat for a second or two. Then Malia’s scrambling over the seat, and not as much joining the hug as crowd-surfing it. A beat after that more momentum is coming from the side as Kira gloms onto Scott. Stiles stretches as best as his arms and torso will allow so he can envelope as much as he can. This isn’t just a group hug. This is a declaration of intent. Words can come later, when everyone finds out. For now this hug is for them.


End file.
